


Heat Lightning

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7022602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2016 Summer Hiatus Fic Collection: Drabbles and fic nuggets and vignettes, oh my!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scrape, Scratch, Rub

**Author's Note:**

> Beard kink inspired by an anon ask on my Tumblr, woot!

 

Emma doesn’t mean to giggle, really, she doesn’t, particularly since she’s finally gotten Killian naked and into bed after a grueling day, but she can’t keep it in when he drags his mouth along the curve of her neck and his chin consequently rubs against her skin. It tickles as he goes, not from his lips, but from the heavy stubble that he’s allowed to grow just a bit beyond its normal length. She wouldn’t say it’s long enough to be considered a beard, though she doesn’t mind so much because she’s not really into the whole beard thing anyway. But the shadow it casts over the lower portion of his face? So incredibly sexy and-

He shifts lower, dragging his teeth along the line of her collarbone and she loses her train of thought, has to remember to breathe when he bites down.

“What’s so funny?” he wonders, voice rich and deep and just a little gruff in that way it always gets when he wants her too much.

She threads a hand through his hair, fingers twisting in the thick locks as he noses further south, peppering more kisses over her as he goes. Her head shakes, body shivering at the light burn of his scruff, and she tugs restlessly at his hair, uncertain if she means for him to stop or if it’s an attempt to rush him along.

It’s the latter. It’s definitely the latter.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she says.

He appears to be in no hurry, however, inching down the bed (and her) at a leisurely pace and humming contemplatively as he forges a path with his lips between the valley of her breasts. His chin scrapes against her again and this time it doesn’t tickle, merely steals more of her breath and leaves a pleasant ache over her skin while heat blooms hotter in her veins.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

There’s a playful nip at the underside of her breast, another rough scratch of his stubble-covered jaw that makes her gasp and arch into his touch. _Jesus Christ._ A heavy breath expels through her lips when he soothes the spot with his tongue, and yeah, she’s absolutely a fan of the scruff.

“Well…I was just thinking-”

“Thinking? Am I not distraction enough?” he teases, scooting lower and lower and _lower_ until he kiss across her ribs. 

It makes her giggle again, but in her defense-

The rest of the thought flies out the window and she even forgets how to form simple words when he abruptly hitches one of her legs over his shoulder, forgets that she means to comment on the state of his facial hair when he glances up at her – eyes full of challenge and mischief while he nibbles delicately at her inner thigh.

“I suppose I’ll just have to redouble my efforts, love.”

He’s a man of his word – bless him – and then some.

———-

Date nights have a tendency to end up the same way every time, with popcorn and Netflix abandoned in favor of more enjoyable activities on _his_ back. The two of them pressed tightly together on the small couch, Emma straddling him and leaning over low enough so her nipples drag over his chest hair with every rock of her her hips and send sparks dancing along her skin.

“You…shaved,” she comments between pants, biting playfully at his chin as their noses bump and she traces her fingers along his jaw. She likes the way it feels after he’s recently tidied it up with his straight razor, how the fuzz is soft and prickly beneath her fingertips and lips.

“ _Aye_ ,” he groans, hand smoothing up from her ass all the way along the length of her spine before tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. “Just a bit.” He urges her closer, angles his head so he can fit his mouth to hers, his next words smushed against her lips, “Is that…alright?”

He plants his feet on the cushion, thrusting up the same moment she pushes down, and her hand tightens on his face. _God_.

“Yep. It’s perfect, actually,” she sighs, stealing the smile curving up his mouth with another kiss, feeling the gentle scratch his facial hair against her chin.

———-

She likes how it feels when they’re slow dancing in the backyard beneath the light of the moon, her forehead resting against his jaw as she stands in the circle of his embrace and sways with him to the music playing softly from her phone. She likes how it rubs across her skin when she shifts closer still, resting her cheek against his shoulder to bury her face into his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“And I, you, Swan,” he murmurs back.

She tilts her chin up and presses her smile – accompanied by a kiss – to the spot just below his ear, scrunching her nose in amusement when he nuzzles his cheek against her and the scruff tickles her face.

———-

There’s nothing like the texture of it beneath her lips when he brings her lunch at the station and she kisses his cheek hello, or when she kisses him once more after he hauls a chair over to sit beside her behind her desk. And there’s nothing better than how it feels beneath her fingertips when she’s wiping off the breadcrumbs of their shared grilled cheese sandwich from where they cling to his bottom lip and chin. Especially when he closes the distance between them to kiss her in thanks and she can trace a finger over the dimple in his cheek, feeling the tiny hairs prick at her skin.

Sometimes his stubble burns her face when they’ve been kissing too much, rubbing the skin of her chin raw and he has to find more creative places to kiss her. (To mark her.)

She thinks it’s sweet how it tingles along her flesh when he brushes his lips over her knuckles or her palm every time she cups his face and he turns head to drop the kiss to the inside of her hand.

She’s particularly fond of how it feels when he sneaks up behind her, arms winding around her waist as he tucks his chin against the curve where neck meets shoulder to watch her with whatever task she’s found herself doing – cooking over the stove, standing over the sink as she brushes her teeth before bed, trying to pick an outfit for the day.

———-

It’s morning, and she wakes to him hovering over her, laying on his side, propped up on his arm as he traces a finger along the faint marks marring her chin. She sighs into his gentle touch, watching him with hooded eyes as desire stirs in her belly and an ache begins to bloom between her legs.

“Time for another shave,” he murmurs.

She shakes her head, breath coming faster, heart beginning to beat against her ribs as he ghosts his fingers lower to the beard burns beneath her breasts. Her nipples pebble under the touch and her back arches off the bed when his thumb soothes over a particularly tender spot before detouring and sweeping up and over one taut peak.

“It is,” he insists, eyes unwavering from her face. (He likes to watch what he does to her, to see the pleasure unfurl on her face.)

“It’s fine,” she answers.

“I’ve marked you, Emma.” He releases her breast, hand inching down over her stomach and across to her hip where he’d sucked a bruised into her skin the night before and left more beard burns around the tender area.

“You like marking me,” she gasps, body quivering on her next exhale, eyes squeezing shut when his hand drifts over her thigh.

He doesn’t disagree, and she knows without having to look that the glint in his eyes and the smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth is answer enough.

“Besides, I like wearing them,” she tells him, voice hoarse and needy as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth and spreads her legs wider, hoping it entices him to touch her between them.

He completely bypasses where she wants him most, sitting up and shifting lower for a closer look at the path his fingers forge along her inner thigh. She hisses when he soothes over the sensitive skin with soft, careful kisses, remembering in great detail exactly how she’d come by the mild irritation and thanking every god in the universe.

“Well, if the lady insists.”

Oh, she does. She really, _really_ does.

_Fin_


	2. Sunshine Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a gifset of Emma's up-do's throughout the seasons.

He loves the way she piles her hair atop her head, fingers combing through the thick, silken strands as she pulls it back from her face. Sometimes it’s intentional, conveniently keeping it out of the way while she goes about her day. Sometimes it’s an afterthought, rushed and haphazard before she leaves for work in the morning, just slightly off center with a little bump near the band that makes him smile and step behind her to brush his lips along the line of her exposed neck while he helps her into her favored red leather jacket.

Every time she does it, it makes him think of the first time he’d seen her with her hair up, twisted into a bun with two curling locks framing her face and a circlet of jewels nestled securely on her head. She’d been radiant that night at Midas’ ball, every bit the princess she was deemed by birth yet claimed not to be.

It makes him think of how she’d styled it for their first date too, tied high and curling on the ends. How it felt slipping between his fingers when he’d asked her to go out again at the end of the night and she’d leaned forward to kiss him in reply. She had been stunning that night, and he, well he had simply been overwhelmed.

At the Sheriff’s Station, not long after, she’d let him unpack her past with it tied low at the nape of her neck and swept forward over her shoulder. Later, she had tucked herself into his side, their fingers lacing together while he comforted her through the ghosts and memories and remnants of her childhood.

It would be a bit of time before he’d see it up again, and another realm. Not to mention another reality. 

She’d worn it back in a mess of curls (with a charming little plait by her temple woven into the ponytail) when she’d pressed up against him – well, deckhand him – and had shown him how to draw a sword from the sheath at his hip. She had taken him through a few basic offensive and defensive maneuvers with the weapon, saying something about ‘muscle memory,’ but truthfully, he doesn’t remember much of that moment in Isaac’s alternate universe. He’d been too distracted by the warmth of her at his back, the tickle against his cheek caused by her closeness and the strands of hair hanging loosely around her face, and the secret smile that had been just for him when she’d confirmed their _‘closeness_ ’ in this reality and he had admitted to being jealous of this other him.

He rarely thinks of the time when she’d been dark, doesn’t count the slicked back, braided bun with the silvery feathers adorning her hair.

Instead he remembers when he’d returned from the Underworld, Emma’s hair in a ponytail, dampened and curling from the rain and cold. He thinks of her smile and her joy and how she couldn’t stop kissing him everywhere her lips could reach, how his fingers kept tangling in the ends of her hair every time he would run his hand up her back – a comforting, reassuring gesture for her as much as it was for him.

It had been up in that same way when she’d told him she loved him outside of Granny’s after they’d gotten back from New York – no monsters, no crisis, no certain death. Just Emma. Emma open and vulnerable and so, so brave, her smile soft and her eyes even softer in the glow of the late afternoon sun while she’d held his gaze. Little wisps of her hair had escaped from the band at the insistence of the wind, and he’d watched her adorably try to tuck them back behind her ear before she’d taken a breath and said those words he never tires of hearing from her – _I love you._

Now, his favorite Emma up-do is when she pulls it back before leaving their bed, a happy and sated smile tugging up the corners of her mouth as her fingers try to tame the tangled mess he’s made twisting it between his own fingers. It makes him grin in turn, a smug curving of lips as he watches her against the pillows, his arms tucked beneath his head while she attempt to gather it together and smooth out the bumps. It never works, and he never minds.

She makes comments often about wanting to cut it, but it seems to be more for show than anything she’d ever really do, because it always elicits the same response. He always tugs her back into him, crushing his mouth over hers with a firm shake of his head – _no, don’t, never_ – his fingers twisting into the sunshine gold, pulling gently (sometimes not so gently) to reiterate his point. She always giggles, that quiet, carefree way that makes him smile against her lips, and she always wraps herself tighter around him before sighing in agreement, _‘kay_.

_Fin_


	3. Loving Can Hurt, Loving Can Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-5.21 fluff, (loosely) inspired by Ed Sheeran's "Photograph" and canon divergent from Emma and Killian parting ways outside of Granny's after Robin's funeral.

She finds him aboard the Jolly Roger at the end of the night, changed back into his modern clothes, seated by candlelight at the table in the center of the Captain’s quarters. His focus is something to be admired, his eyes steady on the open pages of Henry’s storybook, brow knit in concentration. Her footsteps are light on the ladder and he doesn’t glance up until her boots click against the floorboards.

“Swan,” he says, smile soft on his face.

“Hey,” she replies, her own smile equally as soft.

She crosses the room and he leans back just as she slips between him and the table, sliding into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her cheek rests against his temple and she sighs when his arm comes around her, the familiar press of his hook comforting on her hip and easing some of the ache lodged beneath her breastbone. His hand squeezes gently at her thigh and her eyes close at the gesture, savoring this quiet little moment between them.

It’s a funny sensation being here with him. She feels exceedingly overwhelmed by the whole thing, her emotions a jumbled mess, and she can only process a few at a time. Right now it’s relief winning out -- relief, happiness, love. God, so much love it’s near suffocating.

Truthfully, she much prefers it to how she’d been feeling just hours before.

“How is everyone?” he asks after a while.

“As well as can be expected.”

He makes a noncommittal hum, thumb rubbing soothing circles over her leg. “And Regina?”

She doesn’t reply, doesn’t have it in her to muster up an answer save for another heavy exhale. He tips his head back to look at her, hand reaching up to cup her cheek. Her eyes flutter open at the gentle caress, at the warmth that blooms across her skin. It mingles with the coolness of his rings and somehow, it draws another smile from her, makes her fingers curl around his wrist to anchor herself to him (or maybe him to her) before she turns her head to kiss at his palm. She lingers there until she feels a little steadier, allows him to continue holding her, knowing it’s as much for him as it is for her.

“Which story are you reading?” she wonders, eyes tipping towards the page he’d been studying so intently when she’d arrived.

And her heart abruptly stutters in her chest, the corners of her mouth tugging up at the image that looks back at her. It’s them. Dancing and smiling at each other in the Enchanted Forest at her first ball, the same photo she’d been admiring before he’d returned Hades’ missing pages of the book. Her reaction doesn’t _feel_ as visceral as it had in that moment, where she’d been choking back tears and had forced herself to shut the book close before she’d broken down in the library. But she finds that tears have sprung into her eyes the same as before anyway. One spills over onto her cheek and Killian swipes it gently away with the pad of his thumb.

“Ours,” he replies quietly, and she has to swallow thickly against the lump in her throat.

He drops his hand, resting it on her leg again and she sniffles as she reaches out and begins flipping leisurely through the story. It’s a hell of a tale in images alone -- ice monsters, Snow Queens, Queens of Darkness -- and as she relives the story on paper, it simultaneously all flashes in her head like a movie montage.

She pauses for a moment on an illustration of her -- stance wide, arm raised in the air, hair a wild mess as the inky black Darkness swirls around her and she stubbornly calls it back to the dagger in her hand. Killian’s photo is on the opposite page, his face full of torment as he looks on.

There’s an abrupt pang in her gut and he must sense the sudden tension in her body because he wastes no time turning the page for her. Again and again, never staying long enough on any one section. Not that he needs to. It’s in her memories, clear as day: Camelot, fields of Middlemist, two Dark Ones, Storybrooke, a wasted sacrifice.

The Underworld.

She stills his hand when he flips to a beautiful photo of he and Liam saying their final goodbye, and she smiles affectionately at it, glad to have it in the book. Just beneath it, is one of her and Killian soon after, holding each other close, their foreheads touching, grinning together after he’d decided to come home.

Emma feels his lips against her shoulder, remaining there as he bypasses the elevator parting completely. It doesn’t bother her in the least, she’s not sure she’s ready to re-read that just yet anyway -- it’s still too fresh in her mind -- and thankfully, he appears to share the sentiment.

She stops him again when he gets to a page with an illustration of him holding a torch, her hand resting over his as her eyes scan the text Henry had written.

_Killan’s gaze flickered between the book and the struggling King, back and forth, and back and forth. Another heavy choice rested on his shoulders. He thought not of the easy path, but of the hard one, the risk it was to forego the book and their one chance to help those above ground defeat Hades, in order to save the man who had condemned him to the Underworld in the first place._

_He owed Arthur nothing, and Arthur, well he owed Killian everything. Perhaps another man would have chosen differently, perhaps, had he still been who he was before Emma -- lost, hardened, angry -- he would have chosen selfishly, for his own personal gain._

_But the truth of the matter was that Killian Jones was too noble inherently -- too kind, too_ **_good_ ** _\-- to turn his back on someone in need of help, and with a grit of his teeth, he rushed down the stone steps to aid the King._

Pride swells in Emma’s chest and she glances at him then, smiling before she leans over to kiss his cheek.

“You’re almost to the best part,” he tells her, nodding back at the book.

“What? The part where you save the day and get revered by a God and are deemed a hero?” She winds her arms back around him and laughs lightly. “I don’t need to read that. I already know you’re a hero.”

“No, Swan,” he huffs exasperatedly, though his expression has gone soft again and it’s almost too much to see him looking at her that way. “The part where Zeus sends me off to where I belong. With you.”

The grin that splits her face makes her cheeks ache and even though tears burn on the edges of her vision, she doesn’t care. She crushes her mouth to his, stealing his breath the way he’d stolen her heart so long ago.

She hopes _this_ makes it into the book because her heart is so full it’s near to bursting, and years from now, she wants to remember him in just this way -- with his smile against her lips and his nose digging into her cheek, the blue of his eyes gleaming bright and happy in the dim cabin when she pulls away to tell him she loves him, the sweet little crinkles around them when he answers, _I love you too, Swan_.

\----------

_And with the thanks and blessing of the God of all Gods, Zeus, Killian turned and began to walk towards the light. His heart was full of peace, content in the knowledge that he, finally, could grant Emma her last wish._

_It appeared, however, that Zeus had other plans._

_Because there, on the other side of what he believed to be the end, was actually another chance -- a new beginning. There, mere feet from him, was Emma. His heart, his True Love, his Happy Ending._

_Fin_


End file.
